where the fuck is my whirlwind romance?

I'm 22 and rude to guys on tinder. It's my pathetic attempt at hiding my insecurities with harsh cleverness. I don't pity myself, but I do dream

and dream I do well. It's about all I do decently. I'm been learning how to play the guitar again. So far I can only play Wagon Wheel and Pumped-Up Kicks, poorly. I have my first lesson tomorrow so, who knows, maybe it will be music that awakens my soul or whatever.

I've been reading like my mind is starving. It's so much easier to disappear into Ender's Game or Percy Jackson and the Olympians. I love children's novels just as much as serious ones. I have about 120 pages of psychopharmacology to read and it's nice to slip into a cheerful adventure. I'm envious of their fictional friendships. I feel incapable of forming the same bonds and it's just nice to live vicariously through characters that find a place to belong. 

My group of friends has never been the most cohesive and lately, we're fragmented by old wounds and purposeful absences. People who once slept in the same bed refuse to be in the same room. And I'm one of them. I make new friends, but honestly, maybe it's not other people that are the problem. I haven't truly connected with anyone in so long. And I'm so insecure that I'm not even sure if the friends that I have are going to stick around. Petty slights, missed invitations, and microaggressions soak our ties in gasoline and I'm always tense in fear of a spark. It feels like a protracted end in some ways, but I haven't given up (as downtrodden as I may sound). I put together plans, I invite people, I show I care. But it never feels like enough. And that's my fault, isn't it? My fault that I'm not satisfied? My fault that I don't know how to ask for what I want or my fault that I'm too cowardly to admit what it is? My fault that I live in fiction and find nothing but fault in reality?

I hate asking myself questions.

I always know the answers

I just never like them.

Sometimes I hate that I chose to study psychology and hate myself for fitting the stereotype of the crazy person trying to find themself, but that's what I am

I'm drowning in pages of literature that sometimes hit too close to home, but the problem with psychology is that there are no real hard answers. There isn't an equation that can help you find a satisifying relationship. Sometimes it sucks and sometimes it sucks less. Some of my closest friends are going ghost on me and I know that they will never be straight with me about it. People would rather lie to themselves and others than to allow for a final dissolution. Instead they ask where I've been and I lie and say that I've been busy, but we both know the truth. They don't invite me out much and they're always busy when I ask them. 

People just drift apart sometimes and I'm reading about how people avoid the destruction of relationships as much as they are motivated to create them. But I've given up. How far can you put yourself out there until you fall off? I'm not much better. I'm not always great at keeping in touch, either. I've cut out a lot of people too and maybe this is my karmic redemption. But I had my reasons, so maybe they have theirs? Anyway, I'm trying to keep my nose to the books while I try not to be sad about not having a secure base and slowly try to make new friends as best as I can. 

I know the only for me to get out of this little big city is to get my bachelor's and find some school in some place in europe. I don't feel like I'm running away, moreso that I've overstayed my welcome and it's time to leave.